


Just Moments

by kristin



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 02:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristin/pseuds/kristin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Peggy went to Don's office, and one time he went to hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bow/gifts).



> Thanks so much to my betas N. and N. (More profuse thanks will follow the reveal.)

**1.**

“Mr. Draper.” Peggy lowered her hand and walked into the office.

“Yes, Peggy?” Don - no, he must be Mr. Draper - was shrugging on a clean shirt. She could see the discarded one in the corner. Should she grab it now or wait until he said he had dry-cleaning to go out? She could see the lipstick stain from here. Maybe Joan would know. “Peggy.”

“Mr. Michaels was here earlier; you were late.”

“So?” Mr. Draper’s voice was a harsh bark. Peggy kept her smile plastered on even as her mouth tried to tighten instinctively. A secretary should always be pleasant in form and manner; that had been drilled into her head at college. Really though, all she had to do was look to Joan to remember that little bit of wisdom.

“He is very punctual. Mr. Michaels, I mean. He stopped by for your meeting and wouldn’t wait,” Peggy said. She kept her notepad straight out in front of her body.

“Then you should have made him. Or do you agree with him, that his time, his tiny little company that is barely worth our fee to retain, is more important than _my_ time?” Don asked.

Peggy sometimes thought Don should be an actor. His voice rose and fell so passionately on the words, like each was the key to the gates of heaven, even if all he was doing was chastising a new secretary.

“He is the customer, Mr. Draper.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Peggy realized she probably should not have said that. She should have agreed, nodded her head, maybe, if she couldn’t or wouldn’t lie.

Mr. Draper’s eyebrow was raised. “The little sparrow has a spine, huh.”

“I do,” said Peggy, standing taller instinctively. She had already blundered. Mr. Draper wouldn’t appreciate back-pedalling.

“Well, get Mr. Michaels on the phone then.” He went back to tying up his tie, adjusting his cuffs just so. “What are you waiting for? Go.”

Right, she could do that. As she left she realized that yes, yes, she _could_ do that. Make the call, stand up to Mr. Draper.

 

 **2.**

“Ah, Lois, come in,” said Don.

Mr. Draper was looking down at something- probably the Samsonite copy Paul had been fighting with, based on what she had heard this morning. But she wasn’t sure. Peggy was out of the loop.

“Actually, it’s me,” said Peggy. She fought to keep a smile off her face. There is no reason she should be happy to see him. No reason to be happy because she was back now. She had walked into the lobby and gone up the elevator to Sterling Cooper this morning.

“ _You shouldn’t be happy,”_ said the little voice in her head that spoke with her mother’s cadences.

“Peggy, I didn’t know you were back yet.” Don’s voice was surprised. She supposed she would be too, in his shoes.

“I wasn’t, actually. Just got in this morning,” she said.

“Okay, then, was there any point to this little meeting? I have a stack of accounts on your desk taller than you. Get back to work.”

She turned to leave, used to his brusqueness in the morning. She should remind Lois to get him an extra cup of coffee if he was in the office by nine.

“And Peggy, you look-” Peggy could see him searching for the words, how not to say what he was thinking.

“I know.” Because she did know. Every morning she saw herself in the mirror and started. She was lighter, in every way that mattered, and even a few that didn’t. This time she let her grin through, but it was okay, so did Don.

“Good to have you back. Get to work, now.”

And so Peggy did.

 

 **3.**

“Do I still work in here?” Don asked.

Peggy started, hiccuping back up the scotch she had just swallowed.

“I mean, I wasn’t just imagining that this was my office, was I?” Don asked as he circled around and slapped her back.

“Sorry, no, I just-”

“You just thought I would be at the Hilton meeting for another hour.” His voice was wry. “You didn’t count on Connie’s impatience. I was ten minutes behind and he left.”

“Exactly. I mean. Sorry, I shouldn’t have barged in. But Olive, I think she emptied all my bottles of scotch,” said Peggy, quickly.

“Well, then it makes complete sense that you come here, rather than, say, ask Joan to find you a replacement.”

“Are we talking about the scotch or the secretary? Because people are a little harder to replace,” she said.

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” replied Don.

Peggy thought he was joking, hoped so. But she was getting better at reading his tones, finding his truth.

 _Finding his truth._ Oh, that was a line. She should write it down. But not here. Don hated putting the taglines before the product.

“I’m waiting for an explanation, Peggy.”

“I told you, Olive is some kind of teetotaller - at least when it comes to women drinking.”

“Not exactly what I meant, there.” Don poured himself a drink before sinking down into his desk chair.

“I was working on Pampers,” she said. He just sat there, sipping, so Peggy continued after taking a gulp of her own. “It’s been a year.”

“I can put Paul on that account.” Don’s eyes were kind. She could see that but - he was supposed to know this.

“Why would I need that? I just needed a drink. I’ll be good. Am good.” She held up the bottle. “Can I take this with me?”

She left before she could hear a response.

 

 **4.**

Peggy wasn’t used to the way these new door felt when she knocked. Crisp. That was the word. Fresh. Good words, even if this particular version made her knuckles hurt.

“Come in!” Don’s voice carried through the door more easily, too. Well, that was something.

“So this is you.”

“It is. Joan got you settled?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m right over there.” Peggy pointed over, taking in Don’s office as she did so. She hadn’t gotten the chance to really stare at it yet. Sound would really carry if that window up there opened. Might be useful for meetings she was kept out of.

“Well, that is familiar, at least. I’ll admit I’m not quite adjusted yet.”

“I think we all will be, soon enough.” His desk was at the same angle. Then the bar must be, yes. Familiar. It was a bit nice, she supposed, to have some things stay the same.

“Want to help me christen this place properly?”

“I think Roger has christened every room.”

“Come on, Peggy, drink with me.” Don walked over to the bar. “Or rather, find booze with me, Peggy.”

She laughed. There was so much to do. She had art to hang on her walls and files to arrange in an office that smelled clean. Freddy Rumsfeld had given her many great legacies, but one that she hadn’t appreciated was the way her office at the old Sterling Cooper had always smelled of stale alcohol under a thin layer of disinfectant.

But still. “Sure, let’s find something Roger hasn’t drunk yet.”

“Judging by the rate he was going at it, I think we might have to leave the building for that.” Together they left, walking into the bright corridor.

 

 **5.**

Peggy looked up at the knock on her door. “Come in?”

Don poked his head in her office. She flipped her notepad shut as he wandered in, making a beeline for the window.

Peggy reviewed the pending meetings in her head. Nothing pressing, but London Fog were supposed to call at any point now.

“Can we talk?” asked Don. His voice was quieter than she had heard it awhile.

“Is this business or personal, because I think we’re doing well with the-”

Don cut her off. “Menken’s Department Store.”

“Oh.” Peggy honestly didn’t know how to respond to that. She and Don worked better with fictions or allusions. But that was one from when she was just his secretary, before she knew she could be something verging on a friend to him. “Both, then.”

“Apparently, Pete thinks we could land them.” Don’s voice was overloaded with tones. Layers and meanings and she did not have time to delve into them. She was _working_.

“We need the account, Don,” she said, as calmly as she could. Peggy started piecing together words in her head, the best way to explain to Don that his issues were a liability here.

Her phone rang. They both looked at it for a minute as it rang again. The clamor was louder than it should have been. There would be no time for explanations.

“Don.” She repeated herself. “This firm needs that account. You need to fix it, whatever it is. That is London Fog on the line, and I need to talk to them about the copy for their latest ad buy. Go.”

“I can do that,” Don said softly.

She picked up the phone and watched Don as he pulled the door to her office closed.


End file.
